


The Afterlife Kinda Sucks

by SimulatedStars



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimulatedStars/pseuds/SimulatedStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ETA: was intended to be multi chapter, way back when. Is now abandoned as is.</p><p>When you die, you get your own heaven where everything is just as you would have wished it to be in life. But since everyone gets their own separate afterlife, each one is a new slate, a new start: you forget all your past relationships and make new ones with the creations of your heaven. It wouldn't be heaven if you knew you would never see your friends again, after all.</p><p>But during the barricades, something goes wrong and the (movieverse) Amis who died at the same time end up in shared heavens that are a mishmash of what they each wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Afterlife Kinda Sucks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the summary prompt over at the Les Mis Kink Meme, round 3.  
> (I've put in a shout-out to a Marguerite's fic Some Friendlier Sky so I felt like I should mention that)

You sit on a train; the flashing images of Paris that you see through the window are a stark contrast to where you have been for the past moth (in the south of France, for various reasons). You've spent most of the journey thinking about the time you spent there (and how Paris might welcome you back).  
It is only when you get off the train at precisely eighteen hundred hours - and step through the mix of steam and smoke that constitutes the interior of the Gare de l'Ouest - that you are reminded of the days when the midi was not merely a train ride away. When cholera had been thought incurable (when you didn't own a revolving gun).

  
(Your hand touches the case quickly, just to ascertain that it's still there).

  
It shocks you to remember how recently it was that past had been the present. Thinking instead of who you are meeting tonight, and the things you wish to discus then, you walk to your apartment with thoughts of the future whistling about in your head.

\-----

  
The Musain is filled with smoke and laughter when you arrive, and it makes you wonder (once again) what made you chose this place for your dinner, rather than one of your more frequented cafes. It's been so long since you've dined here that the barkeep has changed, and you aren't quite sure where you should sit (the back room would be full, if you'd even stopped to think about the possibility of dining there). Stepping in from the doorway, you glance around. Even though the cigarette and cigar smoke makes half of the patrons into silhouettes, your eyes still manage to gravitate first towards to the man you came here to see (unruly straight hair, pipe in hand), and secondly to the man you haven't seen for years (his curly hair left to grow even curlier). Their boisterous conversation reaches you over the generic wave of sound, and as you ease your way through the crowd and the smoke they, in turn, notice that you're here.

"You made it!" The first man, Joly, stands up with a smile splashed across his face. You clasp his hand in your usual greeting, except the motion is cut short as Courfeyrac jumps up and throws his arms around the both of you, winding you slightly.

When he finally releases you, you feel a smile creeping its way across your face as you say "I did not expect to see you, my dear Courfeyrac - and I see you have already distracted Joly before I have had a chance to enjoy a drink!" You sweep your arm in the general direction of the dominoes game that they had previously been enjoying, the reunion of friends causing you slip into easy joviality that you've missed for these past months.

"You have interrupted nothing, it is simple enough to start a new game and drag you into it, even as you nurture a glass.”

“I suspect that I have no choice in the matter.” Serious talk could wait, so you place your hat and coat on a spare chair before meandering back through the crowd to the bar.

When you return Joly collects the dominoes together, then redistributes them.

"To friendly matters" Joly raises his glass in toast; both you and Courfeyrac join the toast and drink heartily.  
For a while, the three of you play dominoes and talk of somewhat frivolous matters, Joly's work in the advancement of medicine (and where magnets were playing a more major role than you could ever have expected), the leaps and bounds in the fight for women's rights, your own journeys teaching the poor in the country.

You attempt to teach them Morse code at one point, though Joly is too high spirited to engage with the ideas, and Courfeyrac is much more interested in Samuel Morse and his time in Paris than in his inventions.  
It is late (you have started your third drink, at your last count) by the time that you realise that whilst you and Joly have been freely sharing your recent history, Courfeyrac had steered the conversation so that he reveals little of his. It is not long before an opportunity opens itself.

"-and that was how I gained my reputation as the best second in Paris!"

"Tell me, Courfeyrac, asides from stopping rich folks from shooting each other, what Have you been doing?" You attempt a casual air, but the sharp look he gives you makes you jump a little. You've seen that look before, after asking a similar question of him, in similar company (but not the same)

\----

_"Tell me, Courfeyrac, what Do you intend to do when you pass the bar?" You aren’t the one to ask the question. It comes from the left, from someone who isn’t even In your conversation. The look he gives you lasts for the barest fraction of a second, a look that’s equal parts worry and surprise as he formulates a witty retort. But it’s gone so quickly, and his witty remark is made so soon to the rest of the group in the café that you're not sure it Existed to start with, so you let it be, and- and Someone laughs and comments about how they'll still be students eleven years from now at this rate._

\----

You furrow your brow, trying to remember who it was who said that, who else was there - why can't you Remember! Where had that conversation taken place? Why was it so hard to place a date, a time to it?  
"Combeferre?" Joly is waving his hand in front of your eyes, looking worried (but the look wasn't that unusual) "Is something wrong? You look a little out of it." You glance around the room, eyes darting between their concerned faces and the walls of the Musain. You're pretty certain that your face is starting to resemble theirs.

“No- just a rogue memory.” They don’t look convinced, so you play your turn and let Joly steer the conversation for a while. But it’s still in the forefront of your mind. It was a puzzle, and you be damned if you didn’t mean to solve it.

Eventually talk turns to the years spend in university, and the many hijinks and memorable occasions that had spawned. Which is when it hits you.

4 years ago, Courfeyrac took his exams to become a lawyer. Joly was halfway to becoming a doctor and you’d settled on a single brand of science to (mostly study). But something Else had happened that year…

"What do you remember of the summer of 1832? And the months preceding?" You look them dead in the eyes this time, waiting to see if they run into the same mental block as you have. Joly pauses in the middle of choosing a dominoe, "Well, that was the summer of the cholera epidemic" he says, to which Courfeyrac adds "And when you made one of your first forays into teaching outside of Paris" Joly plays his domino carelessly.

"No - more than that!" They share a glance at your exclamation, but you plough on regardless "I can't put my finger on it but something important happened then, something that I can't remember and I should be able to-" You rub your hand across your brow, trying to work out what It is.

"Perhaps what you're thinking of is the fact you Finally chose your degree subject?" Joly starts fidgeting with his pipe when he receives your glare (normally you'd put up with this, but there's something hanging over your brain that won't accept the frivolity and has to Think). You drop your head into your hands, and notice Courfeyrac carefully placing dominoes onto the tabletop.

"It strikes me that I don't have many firm memories of the months preceding the July of 1832." He places a domino in the line with over-exaggerated caution. "Many of the things that I feel I should recall are not things that I can recall."

"Such as?"

"The details of the dethroning of Louis Philippe, my mistresses, and- our friends." The next domino fell to the table with a light clack, just as Joly breathed a word. You and Courfeyrac turn towards him at the same time - he's collapsed onto his chair, knuckles white as he grasps onto his pipe. Seemingly in response to your looks, he stammers "Musichetta. I, I can't believe that I'd forgotten her." His eyes are wide open and one hand has started stroking the red scarf at his neck.

You quirk your eyebrow at Courfeyrac - does he know who this mysterious girl is?

"His Mistress" He smiles broadly - "I seem to remember a wild discussion one night about our girls. You described your Musichetta as having the most wondrous green eyes"

"Like a fortune teller!"

"And M-" Courfeyracs' face fell slightly, Joly's still staring enraptured-ly into the middle distance "And the others were trying to persuade us that a lady was worth dy-" and Courfeyrac stopped. Joly came back to attention. In the silence that follows you feel it is your place to finish his sentence.

"That a lady was worth dying for."

And it’s then that you remember.

\----

 _Enjolras has pushed into the Musain, Joly is dragging Jehan behind him [but you still can't remember who they are but you Know what they look like] and you're screaming at those still left outside because "We need to Barricade the door!"_ _And then you're scrambling to help other people up the stairs - they're not There anymore- because now you're grabbing the (empty) wine bottles and it was supposed to be possible to revolt without violence and you're sure that time was supposed to Slow Down when it came to battles._  
_It’s not long enough until there's no bottles left and there’s no way to stop the guard now you can feel it coming - time is slowing down. You see one of your friends being shot and you know this is It, yet even as you stare down the barrels of the muskets you put your arm to try and stop them form shooting Joly and you raise you pistol (even though there's no bullets left – there’s nothing left anywhere) and Courfeyrac whimpers - why don't you have three hands, you should be able to protect them Both - and you breath in. You count eight bayonets framing eight holes. You know that statistically at least two of them are aimed at you._  
_And then It happens_

\----

The sudden jolt of memory is gone as quick as it came (but the burning heat of that pain doesn't leave as quickly). On instinct you put your hand on Joly's shoulder, and the looks on the other's faces tell you that they remember just as much as you do the feeling of bullets ripping through your body; of feeling your life draining away.

Without talking the three of you decide that you need to go Now, because the air in here is still full of intoxicated laughter and it doesn’t fit anymore, now that you’ve remembered what’s missing. So Courfeyrac sweeps the dominos back into their case, you quickly settle your bill at the bar and then meet them outside the door, where your coat’s draped across Joly's arm, whilst he holds his pipe and your hat in his other hand. By moonlight and gaslight the three of you start walking through Paris, your mind enveloped in those memories, but still not quite filling in all the blanks.

\----

It's mutually (and wordlessly) agreed that you're heading towards your apartment. It is by far the smallest of the apartments that you could end up in, but it also happens to be the only apartment that hasn't changed location since '32.

As soon as you pass through the door you feel your shoulders drop (you'd barely realised how tense they'd become) and you're almost certain the others must feel the same. Courfeyrac unbuttons his coat and flops onto your bed in one fluid movement, whilst Joly makes do with taking his hat off and putting it on the table, with his cane. He then leans on the doorframe, fiddling with his pipe. You simply light a lamp before retrieving a piece of paper from beneath a pile of books (sitting haphazardly on your bookshelf), which you then place on the table next to the light.

(And everything feels natural; as if these are places you've stood before.)

Using the pen and ink that permanently adorn your desk, you get to work. The first thing you write down is the names of those present - Joly, Courfeyrac, Combeferre.

"So what else do we know? Aside from the fact that the three of us are in Paris, and that '32 didn't- end the way we might have hoped."

"Might have hoped! Combeferre we died there! 'Might have hoped' is a gross understatement!" You hear Joly's breathing increase in speed. "Where even are we! No one Else is here! What if-"

"We are where we are." Courfeyrac finally cuts Joly off. "We're all here. We can find the others and that's all that matters." He raises from the bed to put his hands on Joly's, stilling them. "And we will find them."

\----

After Joly has calmed down, the three of you gather around your table and write down the names of those you know you need to find. Enjolras. Bossuet. Jehan. Bahorel. You're sure (and the others seem to feel the same) that there are others that you need to find, but for all your struggles none of you can remember who they are.

"Are we even sure Enjolras will be here?" Courfeyrac asks after the list is compiled. You look at him questioningly. "I mean, Enjolras was with us. Above those muskets." He glances around. "And as Joly so correctly pointed out - he's not here." You nod in agreement, and jot a question mark by Enjolras' name. With the list complete, you glance at the window, where the moon has moved significantly since you left the Mussain.

"It grows late, my friends - perhaps we should adjourn from these sombre matters for the night." Neither Courfeyrac nor Joly seem to have problems with this proposal, though you stay up until the small hours of the morning, discussing nothing of great importance.

\----

You wake with the dawn, one thing preying on your mind - where could they Be? Theres a feeling in your gut saying that they're somewhere near. That being said, they certainly weren't in Paris, yet there's nowhere you can imagine them being. They belonged here, just as much as you or Coufeyrac or Joly did.

The former then proceeds to kick you lightly in the shin. Your thoughts return to the night before, which had culminated in the three of you falling, exhausted, onto your bed (none of you even bothered to don a night shirt, content to sleep with waistcoats removed and trousers left on). You stretch to get rid of the stiffness in your shoulders before carefully extracting yourself from the mess of bodies. The list lies where you left it - abandoned on the table. The feeling comes again - they were nearby. You stare furiously at the list, hoping that it will give you some kind of answer, wishing that those nineteen syllables might hold more than names. After ten minutes you still have no luck.

With frustration in your stride, you walk to your bookcase (a short walk, to be sure, the bookcase was barely three quick paces from the table). You don't make it. You feel a tug in your gut, in the same place that promised the others were near, and then everything is black.


End file.
